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Hi! I’m here!

I’m 20 weeks now and 24/7 morning sickness is still kicking my ass but apparently it felt lonely and asked pregnancy induced carpal tunnel to join in on the fun.

Motherfucking OUCH!

I had carpal tunnel with the hummingbird but it was towards the end of that pregnancy. This time, the pain seems much worse and that’s also why I haven’t been writing much on the blog.

But since it’s not going away any time soon, I’m going to suck it up. Okay, maybe not. I’ve been bitching about it to my husband for the past 5 weeks. Ha!

I reek of Bengay and I’m wearing a brace… I’m officially old!

*March Of The Pigs

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I’m dreaming of a douchey Christmas letter.

*Pieces taken from real Christmas letters we received, and translated by my demented mind.

Well, 2013 is winding down and what a year it has been. My wife has let herself go and is now a fatass. She is also technologically inept so I had to change her password on her fucking phone.

Our kids don’t give a fuck about us anymore so we don’t know what the hell they’re up to.

This year I had a detached retina and will go into great detail about it and bore you to tears in a separate letter. Our neighbor is dealing with cataracts, which will also be detailed in the same letter.

We were planning a skiing trip at the beginning of the year but I got a bad case of gas and the doctors recommended I keep all of my activities under 3,000 feet.

Our damn hippie neighbor broke into our house because she’s fucking crazy and was looking for her dog. I will spend the next several paragraphs relaying what exactly happened during this incident even though you won’t give a fuck and it will make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

This was a great year for the Tea Party and Sarah Palin. Boy, that woman sure has a brilliant mind.

In May, despite my extreme gas and my recovery from a detached retina, my fatass wife and I ran a marathon. We are awesome and better than you’ll ever be.

Then, in October, I made the annual 50 mile bike ride in San Jose. I have a matching yellow and black outfit and if I do say so, I look great in spandex.

Later that month, we went on a road trip, in an American car obviously, to see my niece’s soccer championship game. Despite it being held at the largest non-Christian YMCA, we had a pretty good time.

At the closing of the year, we finally got those ungrateful bastards, our kids, together to take our super cheesy, proud American, Tea Party Christmas card.

I have to say that I’ve very talented with photography and think this picture card is quite spectacular, despite the weight my fatass wife has gained over the past year.

Many blessings to you and yours,

The Douche Family

*The always incredible Glen Hansard.

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Snow bird.

We had our first Maine snow today. I’m sure it wasn’t much considering but we were all excited. Especially, the hummingbird, of course. It’s as cold as a Kardashian’s soul and it’s going to snow more. That would be awesome if my in-laws get snowed out of their visit.

Wishful thinking.




*Nataly Dawn

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I just want a f*cking shower.


I would think the weekends would be the perfect time to get a nice shower in but nope. Not only do I have my 4 year-old to contend with, there’s my husband as well.

I try to sneak into the bathroom and almost every time, I’m busted.

My daughter’s usual response is “DON’T TAKE A SHOWER! PLAY WITH ME!!!!! Followed by a little tantrum and some kind of move that involves her down on the carpet, scooting around.

What. The. Fuck?

It’s one of those “Is this really happening???” moments followed by me thinking I’ve been drugged with acid. It’s just a damn shower!

I’ll tell her that I’m smelly and will feel much better if I take a shower, and then after we’ll play as much as she wants. Ummm, yeah, that doesn’t work, ever.

My husband is around most weekends but when I try to get some assistance from him, it’s like he falls off the fucking face of the earth. Where does he go? What is he doing? Does he have a shower radar and he makes himself vaporize when I try to take a shower? Does he slip off into another dimension? Is it the Twilight Zone? Where the fuck does he go? I JUST WANT A SHOWER!

He appears eventually and is met with bitchy wife.

That catches him off guard because by the time I find him, I’m so fed up with being stinky, dirty, and dealing with the hummingbird that my voice goes supersonic and he can’t understand a word I’m saying to him.

Then he replies with “You haven’t taken a shower yet?” and my voice gets so high and squeaky, I’m sure even dogs can’t understand me.

Last weekend was a perfect example.

It was already dark by the time I was in the shower and right before I got in, my 4 year-old walks in the door and tells me she’ll wait for me to be done. Okay, fine, no privacy, no problem, I’m used to it.

Then my 2 cats wander in and sit there in the bathroom. Followed by 4,804,567 questions by my daughter. I’m trying to answers as best as I can while I try to figure out why the tub isn’t draining but filling up with water instead.

Mommy, will you be done soon? Mommy… mommy… mommy?

By this time, the water was up to my ankles and I kept on flipping the shower thingy knob off and on but I couldn’t figure out if it was draining the water.

I had shampoo in my hair that was dripping and burning my eyes, the 20,000,000 question girl waiting for me, and a shower that was quickly becoming a bath.

That’s when my husband finally reappeared out of thin air and walked into the bathroom.

How many people and pets can fit into my bathroom? Maybe I should invite the neighbors and have a party.

The hubby hears me messing with the shower thingy and with my patience thin because OH MY GOD, I JUST WANT A FUCKING 5 MINUTE SHOWER IN PEACE, he asks why I’m trying to take a bath when it’s getting so late.


The hubby: Oh, did you want a few minutes?




Maybe 20 years from now, I’ll be able to take a nice, hot, 5 minute shower in peace.

I doubt it but maybe.

*Counting Stars

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Fine. Then I’ll just use your manly man electric razor instead. Just don’t come complaining to me when your face smells like an armpit.

After we moved from California to Maine at the end of June and were stuck in a hotel for a month while waiting to move into our house, I was always misplacing shit.

We were in such close quarters and things were always being moved around. If I couldn’t find something I needed, my husband would always say “It’ll show up soon”. More times than not, the stuff just seemed to vanish into thin air, never to be seen again.

On July 29th, we finally moved into our new house and that morning we made a mad dash packing up everything in the hotel room. We needed to check out by 7:30 am so we’d be at our house in time for when the movers showed up.

Our things were thrown into whatever bag it would fit in. Fast forward 10 days.

I had been without my razor during that time and my husband would always say his usual “It’ll turn up.” Around day 5 of my MIA razor, we were at the store and I was thinking fuck this, I need a damn razor because the hair on my legs is starting to blow in the occasional breeze.

The hubby said I should wait because he was sure I’d find it. Yeah, uh huh.

I was tired of feeling like a Sasquatch so when he went downstairs, I went into his bathroom and got out his electric razor. I started shaving my legs with it. If I didn’t have my razor, I was going to use his.

Then came the time for my armpits. I hesitated for a minute because ewww, he was going to be rubbing his face all over the head of the razor that will probably smell like my armpits.

I could just picture him walking out of the bathroom in the morning with razor in hand, asking me why in the hell does it smell like a smelly armpit. I, of course, would play dumb and blame it on the dog because everybody seems to blame their dogs for everything.

But since we don’t have a dog, I would have to fess up. I said fuck it, my pits need to be shaved, and I took his electric razor to them.

Motherfucking ouch! The razor shredded my armpits and since my skin is super sensitive, it looked like I rubbed them against the bark of trees.

I heard the hubby coming up the stairs and ran outta there, into my bathroom to take a shower. By the time I got out, it looked like my underarms were mauled by a bear and damn, it really hurt.

When I walked out of the bathroom to look in a bag for lotion, there sat my fucking razor. It was in a bag we both looked in a few times. What the hell, razor?

It took a day or two before my armpits stopped throbbing in pain and fortunately, my husband’s face didn’t smell like an armpit after he used his razor.

The End.

*I fucking LOVE this song.

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Just a quickie.

In the 3 years that I’ve been blogging, this has never happened.

But this week, I completely forgot that I even had a blog since we were so busy moving into our new house.


Still lots of unpacking to do. Boooo!

Next week, I’ll get back on track… I think… maybe… sure… pretty sure.

Meanwhile… holy hell… Simon Cowell!

*Abbe May.

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Who You Trying To Get Crazy With, Ese? Don’t You Know I’m Loco… Insane In The Maine Brain: A Mark Ruffalo Collection.

Sure, you already knew I was crazy. I’ve taken it to new heights since last week though. It all started when I saw Mark Ruffalo on the cover of a magazine in my doctor’s office.

Right away, I told my husband that I’m smuggling it outta there. Since my extreme morning sickness has been practically non-stop, I thought I would give myself a laugh and place Mark’s pic in different spots during our move from California to Maine.

It takes my mind off the rough time I’ve been having with this little peanut.

This move to Maine has been really difficult but I’m also VERY hormonal so I’m sure in reality it’s not as horrid as I feel it is.

It seems like everything that could go wrong has though. On top of that, I’ve come down with a nasty cold and can’t take anything so please take a big shot of Nyquil for me.

Chug, chug, chug!!

P.S. My doctor switched my anti-depressant to Zoloft which she doesn’t want me to start taking for another 5-6 weeks. I know it will all be worth it in the end when I hold the little peanut in my arms but right now, I feel like an angsty 12 year-old.

Next thing you know, I’ll be wearing dark clothes with smeared, black eyeliner as I tweet lyrics from The Cure.

It has me struggling so much. I went from being on Lexapro and the the occassional anti-anxiety med to nothing at all. Such a shock to the system.

Also, I feel so pregnant and it’s still early on. I’m much more emotional this time around. I lost it this morning and couldn’t stop crying because I couldn’t find my sunglasses. Omfg! Really, me? REALLY?! On top of that, I’m so jet lagged.

So let’s have a BIG GROUP HUG! Ahhh, that’s better!

Now, I give you the Mark Ruffalo collection. Or as my husband called him the other night… Mark GIRAFFEalo. Really, hubby? REALLY?!! Have I taught him nothing in the last 18 years?!

When our eyes first met.

When our eyes first met.


Don't give me that look, Mark. It's not like it's your baby.

Don’t give me that look, Mark. It’s not like it’s your baby.


Relaxing on a park bench. Mark was being so frisky. Can't you just tell? I so didn't mind either.

Relaxing on a park bench. Mark was being so frisky.


Mark couldn't quite reach the gas pedal in the car. Don't mention it though. It bugs him a little.

Mark couldn’t quite reach the gas pedal in the car. Don’t mention it though. It bugs him a little.


Mark chillin' like a villian... waiting for his flight from San Francisco to JFK in New York.

Mark chillin’ like a villian… waiting for his flight from San Francisco to JFK in New York.


On the flight to Portland, Maine. Fyi, I'm now a member of the mile high club.

On the flight to Portland, Maine. Fyi, I’m now a member of the mile high club. Thanks, Mark!


*Why, Cypress Hill, of course!

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